


Hearts Pumping (overheated)

by loochskywalker



Series: Freddie/Connor getting down [5]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Face Slapping, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Oral Sex, Pain Kink, only a little, the leafs still haven't signed connor brown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 22:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loochskywalker/pseuds/loochskywalker
Summary: “I am updating you the moment something is happening. There just isn’t anything happening right now. That’s how July works. Nothing happens in hockey so you can go get a vacation, so go on vacation.”“How am I supposed to go on vacation if i’m this anxious.”orContract negotiations suck and so does Brownie.





	Hearts Pumping (overheated)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing i've written in what feels like forever and it's not great because i really had to push to get out of this rut. This fic isnt' supposed to have a lot of plot or a point to it, just, something nice...hopefully?? I really hope people like it even tho i'll be the first to admit it's not my best! there aren't really any trigger warnings here except face slapping, that's about it. and it's not even really in there much.

It takes a few minutes for Brownie to realize what woke him up, groggy and disoriented. He feels pressure on his side, and at first he thinks he somehow ended up pushed against something in his sleep, maybe rolling off the bed. It takes 30 seconds for him to realize he’s not in Toronto, he’s in California, and he’s not on the floor because whatever he’s sleeping on is cozy as hell. Oh, and also the pressure he’s feeling is suspiciously shaped like a hand. 

So problem solved, basically. Until Brownie registers the fact that there are lips on his neck and whoever is touching him is slowly straddling him from behind. Brownie releases a groan at the pressure. Freddie’s so big.

“Morning,” Freddie mutters lifting his mouth from Brownie’s throat and up to his ear, “sleep well?”

“Still sleeping,” Brownie mumbles.

“Well don’t let me disturb you,” Freddie says, biting at Brownie’s ear making him shudder against the mattress.

He still feels over warm and weighted-down from sleep, his hands folded under his head. Waking up is  _ hard _ and it  _ takes time _ but Freddie is tucking his finger into the waistband of his boxers and tugging.  Brownie whines as the movement makes him shuffle around so that Freddie doesn’t pull  _ him _ off the bed. 

Freddie leans down over him and wraps his arm around Brownie’s front, shoulder to shoulder, his hand gripping him and pulling him up just enough that his face isn’t pressed into the pillow anymore, making him balance on his elbows. Brownie feels hollow-boned and a little limp, but Freddie holds him up even as he uses his knee to spread Brownie’s legs enough to accommodate him in between them. The stretch on the inside of his thighs reverberates up his spine and makes him bow his head a little. He can still feel the finger shaped bruises Freddie left there last night too. 

“What time is it?” Brownie manages to ask as Freddie holds him tight, kissing along his neck and shoulder, hot and wet like he can’t get enough. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Freddie says back, voice gravelly.

“I need at least 8 hours.”

“No, you need to let me fuck you,” Freddie argues. Any other time Brownie would roll his eyes but Freddie chooses then to run his free hand up his thigh, spreading him open, and Brownie shudders instead. 

For Freddie, any reaction is encouragement. Freddie doesn’t need to hear Brownie screaming his name to take what he wants. Although usually, Freddie gets Brownie to scream his name anyway. 

Freddie’s dick slides along his hole then, where he has Brownie spread open. Brownie can’t stop the helpless whine he lets out as he reaches up with one of his hands, to grip the one Freddie has locked on his shoulder. He almost misses the way Freddie’s breath stutters in time with the head of his cock catching Brownie’s hole. Almost. 

Brownie feels Freddie shift around on top of him then, as he moves the arm not around Brownie over to grab what must be lube off the bedside table. It’s pretty hot actually, how long Freddie’s limbs are, how he can cover Brownie with his whole body and still easily move around. Brownie is barely there to Freddie, small and easily manhandled, trusted to be good and stay put. Brownie wants to bury his face back in the pillow so he can bite at it, moan into it, already overwhelmed and Freddie hasn’t even done anything. Instead he’s left panting into open air, using Freddie’s forearm to keep him propped up.

He gets no warning when Freddie’s fingers finally rub over his hole, he almost jerks away from it but ultimately pushes back into it instead because… well… he can’t  _ help _ himself even if it’s a little embarrassing. Freddie stays silent as he finally pushes his fingers in, two right away, slow enough to not hurt but not particularly gentle either.

Freddie finally lets out a noise, a soft laugh, “Still ready from last night, huh?”

“Fuck off,” Brownie says, defensive. He wants to remind Freddie that he’s the one who stretched Brownie open last night, the reason he’s halfway prepped already. But that just reminds him of the stupid whining moans he made, the way he begged Freddie for harder, the way his eyes rolled back into his head. The heat of the embarrassment and arousal mix in his stomach, and he arches back as much as he can with Freddie draped over him. 

Freddie just laughs at him again.

He doesn’t waste any more time after that shifting around a little bit more before slowly pushing his dick in. Brownie can’t help but moan again at the feeling of the hot stretch, his body accommodating Freddie the way it’s supposed to. 

“Sss,” Brownie breaks off at the feel of Freddie pushing all the way into him, “Shit,” he finally is able to finish when he feels Freddie’s hips against his ass. 

Freddie adjusts his grip on Brownie’s shoulders and that’s all the warning Brownie gets before Freddie starts to thrust, hard and solid. And it’s. Fuck. It’s a lot. He’s not tied down but he can’t move, his legs held apart by Freddie’s legs, his body held up by Freddie’s arm. He’s stuck and Freddie has him so filled up he can’t even fucking  _ think _ . 

He balls his fists in the blankets, bows his head and grits his teeth against each hard thrust, pleasure ramming through him, overwhelming. 

It’s stupid, it’s really fucking stupid, how much he likes this. How the way Freddie spreads him out and uses him really fucking gets to him. How it feels so  _ good _ that his vision swims. How easy he is for this. He hates it. He  _ loves _ it. He hates it and he thanks god every day that he was made this way, made to accept and take everything Freddie wanted to give to him. 

Freddie pulls his arm away then, leaving Brownie to faceplant into the pillow and adjust himself quickly, so he can breathe again. Freddie ignores his small struggle, grabbing his hips and pulling him to his knees, so he can lean over him and fuck him harder. 

“God, fucking…”

“Shut up,” Freddie growls, “Just. Take it.”

Brownie moans at that, or maybe it’s the way Freddie feels so much deeper, the way the angle has him swimming. He can’t tell anymore. He’s pretty much useless.

Somewhere along the line Freddie’s arm comes back down, this time on the back of his shoulders, pressing him into the bed. This is what Brownie wanted, to be pressed into the bed to hide but now everything feels too hot and closed in. Leave it to Freddie to always leave him wanting more. 

And he does. All the time. Because Brownie doesn’t even want to cum, even though he can feel his orgasm in the back of his throat. He just wants Freddie to fuck him forever, just wants to take Freddie’s cock hard and deep until he passes out. He doesn’t want this to stop, doesn’t want it to end. 

It’s pretty much over the moment Freddie grabs his dick, making him cum, biting his lip and letting out short overwhelmed sobs. Freddie doesn’t stop because Freddie never stops there, taking pleasure from Brownie until he’s done, with a moan of his own  _ finally _ , and pressing hard and deep into Brownie, making his eyes roll and his arms tense where they’re still gripped tightly into the bedding.

“Go back to sleep,” Freddie eventually says as he pulls out slowly, patting Brownie’s ass like he’s telling him ‘good game’. 

“Fuck you,” Brownie pants.

He feels the way Freddie smiles when he leans down to kiss the back of his neck.

 

********

 

“I have full faith the Leafs are going to re-sign you, Connor, you just need to be patient. We have a few things worked out with them which I’ve shared with you, but it’s not about how much we’re asking for, it’s because they have 49 contracts and need to make a few more moves before they can sign you. They don’t want to end up in a position where they have no leverage to make a deal.”

Brownie can hear the frustration in his agent’s voice and he knows everything he’s said makes sense, logically, but, “They signed Zach!”

“I told you, that was a good thing, Zach’s contract gives us something to build off of and tells us where the Leafs are willing to go for you. You hired me to handle this and I’m handling it, in fact there’s nothing to  _ handle, _ you’re going to be signed and you’re going to get a good contract. You just need to enjoy your summer and be prepared for camp.”

“But…”

“You need to  _ relax _ .”

 

********

 

After fucking his brains out, Freddie tells Brownie to stay in bed as he disappears into the bathroom. You’d think if anything could wake him up quickly, getting nailed would be it but it’s left him feeling loopy and still sleepy. He barely acknowledges the fact that Freddie leaves, to be honest, just so happy to stay in bed. But then Freddie is back and he’s climbing towards Brownie’s side of the bed.

“Hey,” his voice is soft, “Come on, the shower’s perfect.”

Brownie whines.

“I can carry you but you’ll have to stand in there anyway,” Freddie coaxes.

“Shoulda drawn a bath,” Brownie mumbles turning his head and opening his eyes, looking at Freddie for real for the first time that morning. He can’t help but smiling in the face of Freddie’s fluffy pre-shower hair and his shoulders, freckled from the sun.

“You’re gross,” Freddie says, “I’ll draw you a bath when you’re not filthy.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Brownie faux-sniffles, and turns away from Freddie.

“Oh,” Freddie huffs, before he reaches for Brownie and wraps an arm around his middle and tugs Brownie towards his chest. Brownie giggles happily as Freddie easily manhandles him off the bed. 

He’s not trying to be difficult, with the way his feet drag and get tangled up in each other as he tries to walk to the bathroom. He’s still stuck in a weird space, a mix between being still groggy from sleep, and having no bones in his legs from cumming so hard. It’s not a good combination, but Freddie just steadies him and leads him into the shower, making sure he’s on solid ground before he disappears from the bathroom. 

Brownie tries to hide his disappointment, but does his best to let the hot water slowly warm him up. It does feel refreshing, despite the warmth. Freddie wasn’t wrong, Brownie was gross. He came in late last night, where Freddie fucked him, deposited him in bed, and then fucked him again to wake him up.

What a vacation.

It doesn’t take long for Freddie to come back into the bathroom and step into the shower behind Brownie. He doesn’t ask what Freddie did because he doesn’t have to. He just leans back against Freddie’s chest and sighs happily. It almost sends him back to sleep, with how sturdy Freddie is. He doesn’t have to think about having to support himself. 

When they finally get out of the shower, Freddie grabs a towel for himself, tying it around his waist and disappears. Brownie looks around to see there’s no towel for him and pouts. He goes to follow Freddie and… probably scold him or something, but by the time his feet catch up with his brain Freddie is in the doorway and he has a towel in his hand.

“Oh,” Brownie says as Freddie drapes it over him and hugs it around him. It’s warm and soft and right out of the dryer. “You’re a sap,” Brownie mumbles, and gets a kiss on the forehead for his efforts. 

 

*******

 

“Connor, no phones at the dinner table  _ please, _ ” his mom begs. Brownie looks up from his lap to the disappointed look from his dad and the smug grin from his brother. Brownie sighs and puts his phone on the table where everyone can see it. 

“Sorry,” he offers, “I’m just checking to see if my agent has said anything.”

That makes his dad laugh.

“What?” he asks, defensive.

“You need to leave that man alone, he has a life too.” 

“Not when I don’t have a job,” Brownie counters, petulant. 

“If you’re not careful he’s going to get a restraining order against you and then you definitely won’t have a job. I can see the headline now: Toronto Maple Leafs Rookie Unable To Sign Contract Because He’s an Annoying Piece Of Shit, Says Agent.” Jeff isn’t funny and so Connor doesn’t feel bad when he uses his spoon to launch a pea towards him.

Jeff goes to catapult one back, but his mom reaches over and slaps his hand, “No phones at the table and definitely no  _ throwing food _ .” 

“He started it,” Jeff whined.

“ _ You’re _ the one who was a dick first!” Connor argued.

“Both are you are over 20,” their dad says, “Can we act like it?”

Connor sits back in his chair and looks down at his food, waiting the obligatory 5 seconds before he looks up and shares a grin with Jeff. 

 

*******

 

Freddie takes him to a bar that night with a big outdoor patio overlooking the beach. The air is hot and when the sun goes down it cools down with help from the sea breeze. The air feels humid and salty, so when Brownie goes to lick his lips, he tastes liquor and the ocean. He’s not a stranger to Southern California, but it’s not Toronto and that’s obvious. 

Everything buzzes differently here. Instead of a rushed, keep-your-head-down vibe, there’s a girl currently with her arm around Brownie’s neck, pulling him down and shouting into his ear so he can hear her. He doesn’t know what she’s saying but he has a hand on her hip anyway because she feels soft and smells like fresh flowers. Brownie lets his eyes drift closed as he lets his lips brush her neck, when she tips her head back just a little and lets out a soft sigh. Her skin is cool against his, he feels overheated, his shirt sticking to him a little uncomfortably while she has most of her back and stomach exposed. He’s a little envious of her. 

He dances with her, probably slower than the music calls for, he doesn’t care because he isn’t really capable of paying attention to anything else. Her body feels good, she smells good, and he feels a strange mix of foggy and clear in her presence. 

After a while though, he thinks it becomes clear to her that dancing is probably all they’ll do. Maybe it’s the way when she grinds close to him she can tell his body isn’t reacting the way she’s used to, or maybe it’s the way even Brownie can feel Freddie’s stare, and he has his back to him. 

Eventually though, she kisses him and winks and is gone in the crowd. 

It’s okay though, Brownie doesn’t really care. He heads back to the bar, everything swimming and a little hazy but he feels Freddie’s hand on his hip and knows he made it. 

“Having fun?” Freddie asks.

Brownie licks his lips and nods, “Yeah it’s nice,” he says.

It sucks, that he has to dance with girls when he’s out, no matter how pretty they are and how good they feel. It sucks because even in Southern California, where no one has even done a double take on either of them, they still aren’t safe enough to press close together. It sucks even more when Brownie has been drinking on and off all night, and just wants to press his teeth all over Freddie’s body; his neck and mouth.

Freddie must see it in his eyes because he levels Brownie with a look, a ‘stop pouting’ look mixed with a little bit of longing as well. Either way, Brownie thinks it’s time to go, and grabs Freddie’s arm to illustrate that. 

The bar is nice and the beach is nice but he can’t be close to Freddie here, so he doesn’t want to be here anymore.

When they get back to Freddie’s place, Brownie goes to turn the music on because he wasn’t done with his night out. Freddie rolls his eyes like he’s annoyed by it, but Brownie knows that not only does he not care, but that he got Brownie a freshly dried towel this morning for when he got out of the shower. He can pretend all he wants that Brownie, drunk or sober, is too much for him, but Freddie wouldn’t have him any other way and they both know that. 

Besides, when the music’s on Brownie pushes Freddie down onto the couch and starts letting his body sway in time with the music. And it’s not like he’s the best dancer, but he can still feel that girl from the club up against him and the music is slow but bass-heavy. So it works. Of course it works. Freddie’s easy and in no time, he has his hands on Brownie’s hips, pushing his shirt up so he can lean it and kiss him just under his belly button. 

Brownie’s breath stutters and he drops into his lap, knees on either side of Freddie’s hips, grinding forward into his stomach. 

The effect is instantaneous. One second he’s in a bar with a girl against him, enjoying the way she smells but not much else, the next he’s in Freddie’s lap, hard and panting against his mouth, forgetting he was even dancing in the first place. Freddie’s lips feel soft and warm against his, switching between deep and heavy kisses and soft ghosting brushes of his lips that make Brownie shiver. 

The world is swimming because of more than just the alcohol, and he barely registers that he’s moved until he opens his eyes and sees that he’s staring at the ceiling. Freddie has one of Brownie’s legs hooked over his hip as he kisses down his throat, decorating him in sharp little bites. 

“Hey,” Brownie says, his voice sounds rough and husky like he was shouting all night. And maybe he was. The club was loud.

Freddie looks up, “Hmm?” he asks.

“Hit me,” Brownie says.

Freddie’s eyes flash and his face sets into something serious and a little predatory but as he looms above Brownie he shakes his head, “You know the rules” he says, “Not when you’re drunk.”

Brownie pouts, “I’m barely drunk.”

“No,” Freddie says, and kisses Brownie’s forehead.

“You’ll still get me off though, right?” he asks.

Freddie rolled his eyes, “I guess I can do that,” but he goes back to grinning almost immediately, reaching down to grab Brownie where he’s hard through his shorts. Brownie’s answering moan is muffled when Freddie goes to kiss him.

 

******

 

“Go on a vacation.” It’s the first thing his agent says when the ringing stops.

“Hello to you too.”

“I’m serious.” He sounds pretty serious, now that Brownie is actually listening, “You’re anxious, I get that, but please understand how long I’ve been doing this and how many clients I have had. Because I really need you to understand that you’re absolutely the  _ worst _ i’ve ever experienced.”

“Uh…” Brownie doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Not, with everything considered, but with this, you’re absolutely terrible. I don’t know how else to comfort you. The Leafs are planning on making a move with some of their extra pieces in the coming weeks, and we’ll know where we stand with them more clearly after that. But Lou has assured  _ both of us _ that you will be signed and at camp. If I had any inclination that he was trying to pull a fast one on us I would let you know. This isn’t some conspiracy the Leafs and I have cooked up to make your life miserable.”

“I  _ know _ that, but it’s just… I can’t help it. I feel helpless. I want to know everything that’s happening as it’s happening,” Brownie pleads, that’s probably a good enough apology considering he was the one being insulted, even if it was warranted.

“I am updating you the moment something is happening. There just isn’t anything happening right now. That’s how July works. Nothing happens in hockey so you can go get a vacation, so  _ go on vacation _ .”

“How am I supposed to go on vacation if i’m this anxious.”

There’s a long pause and a sigh, “I would love to also be your therapist but I have to go, please take care of yourself and maybe you’ll believe me this time when I tell you that I am updating you as soon as I know anything.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Brownie has to talk himself out of calling Lou directly himself when he finally hangs up. He ends up texting Freddie instead.

_ I hate hockey _ . 

 

*******

 

Freddie lays Brownie out on his stomach and straddles his back, balancing on his knees.

“I thought you said this wasn't a sex thing,” Brownie says when Freddie just stays there for a beat too long.

“It’s  _ not _ a sex thing,” Freddie tells him, “it’s a relaxation thing.”

“Sex is a relaxation thing,” Brownie says, “Besides, you got me naked and are kneeling above me. This seems like a sex thing.”

“I didn’t get you naked, you took your shirt off. And you’re laying on the floor. I have the world's most comfortable bed and you think I’d take you on the floor? I’m not that impatient.”

“Kind of hot.”

“The floor?”

“You being impatient.”

Freddie places his balled up fists on the blanket on either side of Brownie’s head, “It’s not a sex thing,” he says, voice stern but calm. 

“Then get on with your not-sex thing so we can get to the sex things.” Freddie may not be impatient, but Brownie made no such claim. Besides, the way Freddie is on his hands and knees above him, how big and powerful he is… It’s always hot.  _ Freddie _ is always hot and Brownie is kind of stupidly proud of the fact that he gets this really big hot guy all over him. 

Freddie kneels back up and Brownie decides to at least get comfortable. He’s laid out on the floor of Freddie’s sunroom, the windows are open and he can hear the ocean through them. It’s warm and the sun is out and he’s on a really soft blanket that Freddie had laid out in the middle of the room. Besides the fact that he’s on the floor, it really is quite cozy and that singing feeling in his knees lets him know he’d be happy to stay there for as long as Freddie wants him to.

And that’s all  _ before _ Freddie’s hand comes down on his shoulders, thumbs pressed into the sides of his neck. Brownie shivers, first at the touch of Freddie’s skin against the sensitive parts of his neck, and then because Freddie is  _ digging _ in the most delicious and delightful way. Goalie hands,  _ honestly _ .

Freddie’s hands are larger than life and have so much strength in them, when he runs them down Brownie’s spine, massaging along it, it legitimately feels like he’s pulling all the strength out of Brownie’s body. It’s okay though. He didn’t need that strength anyway, he’s perfectly capable of living as a limp noodle for the rest of his life.

_ God,  _ it definitely feels like the best way to spend eternity.

Freddie skips over his ass and thighs and is gentle around his calves. Brownie’s calves are pretty solid, and that’s not even a brag, he’s pretty scrawny and what isn’t stubborn hockey muscle is solid bone. Freddie is still able to find parts of his calves that need to be loosened and Brownie lets out what must be at least the thirteenth dirty moan he’s made this whole time. 

The feet are less successful. Brownie almost kicks him in the face so Freddie doesn't dwell there. But it’s okay, because then he does get the thighs, one at a time, moving up them while pushing the knuckle of his thumb into the muscle. The rubbing motion has been erotic this whole time but Brownie goes to lick his lips as he resettles against the blanket, trying to find a more comfortable spot as Freddie reaches just below his ass and goes onto the next leg.

He doesn’t know how Freddie knows he’s done, but Brownie whines when he stops anyway. “I can’t move now.”

“That’s okay.” Freddie sounds oddly breathless, but then again, he was the one doing all the work. 

“Not moving is not okay,” Brownie feels he needs to remind Freddie of that.

“You like not moving.”

“Yeah, when I’m tied up. Now i’m just lying here useless.”

“Aw babe, you’re not useless” Freddie says, his voice taunting, “You’re nice decoration, if anything.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome, I have expensive tastes though, so I may have to move you to a less public room. In case I have visitors and they think you’re a little too tacky.”

“Oh shut up,” but then, “A more private room may be fitting though. But not because I’m tacky. Because you wouldn’t want any visitors getting jealous of the  _ decor _ .”

There’s a long pause.

“Not that I’m decor, I am a human being. Your human being boyfriend.”

Freddie laughs at him when he says that and he stands up. “Just...stay there,” he says, and Brownie hears him walk off.

Part of him wants to move just to spite Freddie, but the other part of him still finds the blanket really comfortable and the sun is now angled perfectly to warm up his back through the window. He can’t help but think he really would just stay here for the rest of the day if he could.

When Freddie comes back, he gets down on the blanket with Brownie, laying on his back, his own shirt off now too. Brownie hums in appreciation and reaches over to trace his bare chest. For all the time he spends in Southern California, Freddie is still pale, and Brownie wants to tease him, but he can’t say he’d be any better off. Neither of them tan that much, they freckle, and Brownie likes that too. So he traces the sun freckles popping up along Freddie’s shoulders and the top of his pec.

Freddie turns his head towards him and watches him, smiling gently when Brownie’s eyes flicker up to meet his. Brownie can’t help but smile back, leaning over and kissing him lightly on the mouth and then rubbing their noses together gently. It’s stupid and sappy and gross and Brownie wants to drown in it. 

 

******

 

When the Leafs asked him to run their hockey camp he wasn't going to say no, he was born and raised in Toronto, he knows how important this kind of thing is for community outreach. So he does it. And to be honest, it’s not that bad. The kids are great and they’re funny and they’re just enjoying themselves, all they care about is hockey. Brownie wishes he could just care about hockey, and not contract negotiations or term or how many zeroes exactly he wants on his salary. He can’t just care about hockey though, he has to care about that other stuff. So watching and interacting with kids who don’t even know what ‘arbitration’ means is very refreshing.

It’s tiring too though, because the kids aren’t the only ones there, the media is too and they have a thousand and one questions Brownie has no idea how to answer, mostly because he’s wondering them himself. He’s been media-trained by the best, though, and gives the answers he knows he’s supposed to give. Even though the interview process can’t take more than 40 minutes, it feels like the longest part of his day.

When he gets back to his building, he pulls out his phone to text Freddie but sees Freddie beat him to it, texted him hours ago when he was on ice.

_ Check your email, _ is all it says.

Brownie frowns as he steps on the elevator, pulling up his email on his phone and checking his inbox. There is no email from Freddie, either in the inbox or the spam folder, so Brownie has no idea what Freddie was even talking about until he  _ gets _ it. Or well, he sees it, an itinerary from Air Canada. 

Brownie opens the email and sees he has a plane ticket booked for LAX, the day after his commitments to the Leafs end. He closes his eyes, counts to 10 and opens them as the elevator doors chime open. The email is still there.

 

*******

 

Brownie doesn’t really like the idea of getting beat up or anything. he doesn’t like punches, because they feel too much like a fight. Bruises are okay, but Brownie doesn’t like them more than he likes things that also end up in bruises. For instance, if Freddie bites him, he likes the sting and if he wakes up the next day tracing the bruise it’s not because he likes the dull ache, it’s because he likes that it stung and that it was Freddie. 

And that’s the difference, really, Brownie likes it when things sting. A slap, a bite, even a whip don’t  _ really _ hurt or well… they do. But Brownie wonders if some wires got crossed that mixed up pleasure and pain, because he really doesn’t feel it until after until the next day when everything is achey. During it, when Freddie pulls his hair he’ll let out some pained noise but his body will fucking  _ sing _ and it’s ridiculous. 

But Brownie likes it so much, to the point where Freddie has him on his knees, head tilted back and he’s begging.

“What’s that?” Freddie asks, and Brownie wants to bite him because Freddie heard, of course he heard. He’s just teasing Brownie now.

“Please just, hit me, please. God, Freddie, it feels so good, you know I like it so much. Please hit me.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere, fuck I don’t care, my face.”

“Anywhere or your face?”

Brownie whines and tries to lean up closer to Freddie, pull against the hold Freddie has in his hair. But he doesn’t get anywhere, of course he doesn’t, his hands are tied behind his back, his knees are sore from kneeling for so long, and Freddie’s grip is ironclad in his hair. 

“Maybe I’ll make you wait longer,” Freddie said, “It seems like you want it too much. Maybe I need to teach you more discipline. Teach you to stop being so needy for it.”

Brownie wants to tell him he’s the worst. He also wants to tell him he’s the best. He wants Freddie to let go of him so he can get closer. He wants Freddie to hold onto him harder, make him wait longer. He doesn’t know what he wants so he opens his mouth and pants because that’s all that will come out.

“I’ll ask again,” Freddie says after a beat or two, “Where do you want me to hit you?”

“My face,” Brownie answers quickly this time, sure of himself. He really wants Freddie to just do it and Freddie likes it when he’s good. 

So Freddie does it, hits him. And it doesn’t ache and it won’t bruise because Freddie knows what he’s doing, is an expert in this. But it stings like a motherfucker, will make Brownie’s face pink up and he can’t help but moan at it, shift around, dig his toes into the carpet. Freddie hits him again quickly, lighter this time, but over the sensitive skin it stings just as much and Brownie arches forward, quietly begging for more. 

Freddie doesn’t give him more though, steps in front of him and wraps a hand around his hard cock, positioning it right in front of Brownie’s face. Brownie knows better than to try to take it into his mouth before Freddie has told him he can, but he wants to, licks his lips in anticipation of it. 

“Look at me,” Freddie says and Brownie follows orders, looking up at Freddie and dropping his mouth open because ‘look at me’ also means ‘suck my dick.’

He’s right, Freddie’s not even looking into his eyes, staring more intently at his lips as he slides the head of his dick just past them, along Brownie’s tongue like he’s teasing himself. Brownie closes his lips around Freddie’s dick, and sucks the way he’s supposed to, light and gentle, because this is a warm-up. It’s about getting used to Freddie in his mouth, especially as he starts to rock back and forth, getting deeper and deeper. 

It’s a game for them, Brownie does his best not to choke and Freddie tries to get him to. Part of the game though is the warm-up, because as much as Freddie is mean he isn’t cruel. 

Pretty soon he’s fucking Brownie’s mouth at a pretty even and solid pace, and Brownie is keeping up pretty well, even as spit builds up at the corners of his mouth and spills over, making a mess of himself. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t even pay it any mind, because all he can really focus on is the inevitable moment that Freddie breaches his throat, going deeper. He loves that feeling, like he’s being fucked, filled. But Freddie loves to tease him with it, going deeper and deeper, and then pulling back before he gets there, giving him a mouthful and then stopping short. It’s terrible. And Brownie really shouldn’t love sucking dick  _ this much _ .

But he does, he does love sucking dick, he loves sucking  _ Freddie’s _ dick because it’s Freddie and it’s his dick and Brownie loves Freddie’s dick. 

Freddie pulls out at that, and Brownie realises he’s asking something.

“What?” he asks, voice bleary and eyes watery as he tries to focus.

“You said something,” Freddie says.

“Oh,” Brownie licks his lips, it wouldn’t be the first time he wasn’t aware of what were thoughts and what were words. “Probably something about how much I love your dick?” he finally offers. That is what he was thinking about.

Freddie says, “Get up on the bed.” and Brownie grins because he must have done something right.

 

******

 

“You could have sent me anywhere,” Brownie says when he slides into Freddie’s car in the pick up lot, “And you sent me to SoCal, where you  _ live _ . You make millions, there is a world full of beaches, and you take me to the one you live at?”

Freddie has on sunglasses and a baseball hat, pulled down so the brim makes him look mysterious, but Brownie can feel the eye roll, “You’re welcome.”

Brownie smiles at him and leans over, rubbing his face against Freddie’s shoulder, taking in how fresh and warm and clean Freddie smells, how much like home Freddie smells. He could close his eyes and just get lost in it if Freddie let him.

“Hey,” Freddie says, because he’s mean and he won’t let Brownie get lost in it.

“What?” Brownie asks, looking up. Freddie’s only answer is to kiss him, gentle and warm and soft and refreshing as the rest of him.

“Your agent has done enough babysitting, it’s my turn.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading, kudos and comments mean the world to me. and also my tumblr is mitchmarnersnohomopillow if you're interested.


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